Friday, April 22, 2011

Messenger’s Report

Hello, everyone.  Call me The Messenger, the Bearer of Bad News.  And before you ask, no, I’m not just Hyde under a different alias.

Who am I?  Well, I work for The Boss.  The guy that you guys probably call The Slender Man or Slendy or some other nickname (I think I heard “Faceless McDoucheTree” or something once…I have to admit that one was pretty funny).  What do I do?  Well, I’m a hacker, and it’s my job to let you know when one of you has died.  Why?  I don’t know.  Maybe The Boss wants to give you closure.  Maybe he just wants to rub it in.  Maybe he just wants records since you people seem fond of coming back to life all the time.  Can’t you at least have the decency to stay dead so that we can keep track of who we don’t need to keep tabs on anymore?

You’re all probably wondering what happened to that guy who calls himself Hyde who claims that you know him better as Jekyll (although he said that name with a hint of disdain).  I’m sure you all want to know how he is.  Well, he’s kind of dead.  Shocker, huh?  I guess you assumed that after I explained what I do, though.  It would have been nice had he decided to maybe stay alive for more than three hours.

It’s a shame.  He was a pretty devoted guy.  We’re both pretty new, so we clicked pretty well.  He was small-ish.  Pretty wiry.  I liked him, but he was a weird kid.  Always wore a mask and hat.  Most people working for The Boss of their own free will don’t wear masks.  Had a flair for the dramatic.  He also kept talking in this obviously fake upper-class British accent.  Completely lucid kid, but also pretty darn crazy.

Thankfully, though, it sounds like he at least kind of expected to die eventually, and he gave me his login info.  Keep this in mind, people: doing what he did helps me a lot.  If you assume you’re going to die in the near future it’d really help me out if you could send an e-mail to that contains all your login info.  I’m being serious, by the way.  If we kill you, I’ll know anyway, and this way, it saves me the trouble of actually hacking your blog.  It makes my job a lot easier.

Anyway, Hyde decided that he’d get on the good side of The Boss as much as possible, and decided that the best way to do that would be to go around leading assaults on runners.  To be honest, I have no clue where you guys get the equipment you do.  Really, where do you guys get weapons like that?  Don’t you guys average seventeen years or something?  No offense, but you’re a bunch of psychos, running around with guns and swords and knives and Molotov Cocktails and whatnot.  It’s kind of scary in some ways.  I mean, you know you’re messed up when someone like me, who works for The Boss, tells you that you’re psychotic.

But yeah.  Basically, Hyde decided to lead some assaults (which he described as “tragic necessities” for some reason), and then decided to head off on his own after some guy called Arkady who he described to me as the vilest excuse for a human being to ever exist.  Probably a bit of an overreaction, but whatever the reason, he hated that guy.  Sounds like that Zero guy got to Arkady first, so Hyde figured “hey, two birds with one stone.”  From what I hear, he was mad at that Zero kid for something, too.  Of course, I also hear that he underestimated Zero.  Got himself killed.  I think Zero explains it more here

He sent me a bit he wanted posted along with his information.  Sort of a self-written memorial of some sort.  I don’t really think he expected to survive for long.  I mean, he was a pacifist and everything.  I’ll honor his wishes and put it up for you.  Be warned, there’s a bit here.

Hey, everyone.  Me here.  Not Jekyll.  Not Hyde.  Me.  I know that a lot of you are probably pretty angry at me.  You think that I’m a hypocrite.  You think that I’m crazy.  You think that I’m evil.  Well, you’re probably all right.  I’ve completely broken down, and I can’t remain the strong Jekyll persona I wish I could.  All that’s left for me is Hyde.

I really don’t know if I’m minion of the Slender Man or not.  Hyde is, yes, but that’s because Hyde thinks he has nowhere else to go.  When I take that mask off and slip out of that Hyde persona, I start to question whether or not this was the right choice.  I mean, I know it wasn’t the right choice, but it was the only one that still allowed me to do any good.  I know what you’re thinking, but…it’s the only way I can help.

I know I’m corrupt.  I know that I’m a monster now.  There’s still bits of Jekyll poking through the na├»ve Me, weakly trying to combat Hyde.  There’s this nagging suspicion that the…you know, He isn’t a beautiful, mysterious creature.  I know he’s dangerous, I just…it’s hard for me to bring myself to loathe him.  Hyde’s too dominant, even when I take off the mask.  I rarely take off the mask now anyway, just because it’s the only identity I have now.  It’s the only identity that He will accept.  It’s just a survival thing.

It’s…horrible.  I’m a pacifist.  And yet, I have to go out there and…well, I haven’t personally killed anyone yet, but I’ve led attacks with the intent to kill.  All to maintain His favor.  To survive just a bit longer.  But now…well, now I’ve got a plan.  I’m already evil.  A horrible monster.  I’m beyond redemption.  So I guess there’s no point turning back.  But I can focus it.  I can save souls more innocent than mine.

There are more people beyond redemption.  People like me.  Arkady is the one that comes to mind most clearly.  Zero as well.  A lot of these other proxies, though I can’t afford to be, to use a phrase, a “team-killing fucktard” at the moment.  Because that’s what I’m going to be doing: killing those who are beyond help.  The good of the many outweighs the good of the few, right?  I’ll be a murderer, and people will die by my hand, but they’re people the world will be better without.  It’s…it’s not pleasant no matter how you spin it, but it’s the best alternative.

I guess this is goodbye.  I’m sorry to those of you whose blogs I never got around to—especially those of you who commented.  I feel bad, talking to you even though I never knew you.  It’s time for my final words to some of you, along with (as a return to form) a bit of advice:

Jean: thank you for your words during my breakdown.  I see what you were trying to say, even if you went about it the wrong way.  I appreciate your attempts.

Andrew and Ben: Stay safe.  Andrew, you’ve got valuable information, plus you know not to throw morality out the window like some of these people do.  Ben, I’m sorry you got caught up in this, and I’m not attempting to diminish your role at all by telling you that you have to stay alive to keep Andrew sane.

Slice: I’m sorry I haven’t been able to check in with you lately, so I don’t know what your current status is.  I’ll just say that I get the feeling that Plasterface is trustworthy.  At least listen to him.

Robert: I’m sorry about the whole lack-of-faith-in-you thing.  I still think you would have made a great martyr.  I also think you’re insane now.  But I used to have an huge amount of respect for you.  You’re a good man.

Tony: I like you.  Just try to keep that sociopath personality reigned in.  Just keep the Golden Rule in mind: do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  I’d hate to have to go after you, and I’d hate it if Cynthia was right about her “Daddy” being a better father than you.  Just make sure we can trust you enough to take your advice, because if M doesn’t come back, you’re probably the most experienced and smartest guy we have.

Cynthia: I’m sorry I never got to meet you.  It would have been nice to at least talk.

Redlight: You’re funny.  You’re also a prick.  I’d probably like you if I didn’t hate you.  I honestly don’t know how I would have reacted had I met you.

Ava and Reach: Don’t be stupid.  You’ve got problems, yeah.  But you were considering starting a family earlier (if only just considering).  Well, now you’ve got an excuse.  I know you’re both just still kids, but grow up and learn to become adults and take responsibility.

Arkady: I’m on my way.  With any luck, the world will be rid of you soon.

Zero: You’re pursuing false ideas and murdering in the name of a misguided scheme.  I’m sorry.  I respected you.  But now you’re too far gone.

Maduin: You’ve got the balls to do what I couldn’t.  But please be careful.  Know your limits.

Aimee: I don’t know too much about you as you don’t have a blog of your own, but I know that you trusted me.  Thank you.

Ali: I’m sorry for everything you’re going through, and I hope your situation turns out well.  I’m sorry you seem so isolated.  I wish I could have helped more.  Hopefully, other people will. [Note: at his request, I’m linking the blog: Time out of Mind. -TM-]

Hoso: Self-esteem, girl.  Have some.  You’ve earned it.

Zeke: If you’re reading this, stay strong.  It’s a tough burden having everyone look up to you, which is why you have to at least appear strong for us.  Stay safe, stay smart, stay sane, and stay strong.

M:  M…if you’re reading this…good luck.  I respected you so much.  I still do.  I hope you can make it through this.  I mentioned in a comment earlier that you were like Schrodinger's Cat; we could never tell if you were alive or dead until you posted.  Well, I’m changing my stance.  M, you are, and will always remain, alive until proven dead.  Stay alive, you crazy, badass man.

Everyone defending the sort I’ll be attacking: The Slender Man isn’t the only evil in the world.  An enemy of an enemy is not always your friend.  Keep that in mind.  It’ll help you live longer.

Everyone Else and Those I’ve Missed: I’m sorry I’ve failed you all.  I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger.  Take the advice I’ve given that you think is good.  Ignore the advice you think is terrible.  And please, stay safe.


A real shame he’s dead.  Like I said, I liked Hyde.  But, eh, not like it really matters anymore.  Serves me right for getting attached to him.  Can’t really get attached to anyone in this business.  Don’t know who’s going to die next.

Well, I’m done here.  Don’t be mad at me, I’m just doing my job.  This blog’s over, people.  Nothing to see.  Move along.

-Don’t Kill The Messenger-

Friday, April 15, 2011

Rain on Your Wedding Day


I believe that this is called “dramatic irony.”

I’m sure you all saw it coming from the very first post.  “Oh, a character named Jekyll,” you said.  “I wonder if there will be a Jekyll and Hyde sort of thing at all.”  This surprised none of you.

And yet, it caught me completely off guard.  I never expected this split persona to emerge.  You would think that I would have at least had an idea.  Just like in the novel from which I take my pseudonym, Hyde has emerged and taken over.

But at least time, the triumphant half is the right one.

I have finally come to realize that the Jekyll persona was a fool, and have abandoned it.  Jekyll tried too hard.  He was an idealist who thought he could save everyone around him.  While that certainly is admirable, it is also futile.  It brought him only pain, and consequently, brought Me pain.  He was also overly aggressive and spiteful.  You saw how he treated all of you when you were simply trying to help.  He was also self-centered, vain, and shallow-minded.  He thought himself the rightful persona, attempting to control Me exclusively, refusing to let the persona drop even when he could otherwise forget about the Tall One.  He jeopardized himself, just because he was selfish and paranoid.

So Jekyll exists no longer.  There is only Hyde.

He is standing outside.  I can feel Him.  I can see Him.  No one else can.  But I know He’s there.  He has His arms stretched out, in an imitation of an embrace.  You may not agree with me at all, but I know that He means me no harm.  I can feel His thoughts.  He wants me to come with Him.  And, as much as you may protest, I am going to leave with Him.  He means me no harm.  He only means harm to those who mean harm to Him.  And now, I have the opportunity to constantly be near this mysterious being.  To learn more about It.  What is It?  Is It a monster?  A deity?  An alien?  Who can say.  But perhaps I will finally find out.

I will admit that I’m terrified.  But not of Him.  I simply find it difficult to take a step into the unknown.  I am leaving everything behind.  Naturally, some hesitation comes with that.  But it is better this way.  If He is malicious, it draws him away from where I am.  No more casualties.  They may link it to Girl’s death, but that’s as far as their knowledge will go.  They will remain blind.  And if He is not malicious…well, then I have nothing to fear.  Things will work out for the better.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must go.  There is a certain Dapper Businessman waiting for me, and you all know how rude it is to keep someone waiting.

Most Sincerely,


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Still Alive


This was a triumph.  I’m making a note here, huge success.  It’s hard to overstate my satisfaction.  I did what I can because I must.  For the good of all of us. 

Except we still end up dead.

But there’s no sense crying over every mistake.  You just keep on trying, and the work gets done, and you find a way to help the people who are still alive.

She’s not even angry.  I’m being so sincere right now.  Even though I broke her heart and killed her.  And tore her to pieces.  And threw every piece into a fire.  As she burned it hurt because she cared so much for me.  And she’s glad she got burned…because she was just trying to protect me and now she’s dead and I’m still alive.

Go ahead and leave me.  I think I prefer to stay inside.  Maybe you’ll find someone else to help you.  Maybe Frap.  That was a joke.  Ha, ha.  Fat fucking chance.

Look at me still talking when there’s nothing more to do.  And I’m sure you’re saying that you’re glad your not me.  You’ve got experiments and research to be done but nobody’s gonna do it anymore and if they are it’s sure as hell not going to be me.

And believe me, I am still alive.

I’m completely broken but I’m still alive.

And everyone’s dying and Girl is dead and Amelia is dead and Jeff is dead and Jay is dead and everyone is dead but I’m still alive.

…Why the hell am I still alive?

Wednesday, April 13, 2011



…She’s…she’s dead.

I just heard….  They found her last night.  A farmer found her corpse on his property at around dusk.  Slumped over an upper branch of a tree, positioned so she wouldn’t fall to the ground.  Her stomach cut open and her entrails spilling out.

They…they said it was suicide.  There was a knife on the ground below the tree.  Covered in her blood.  Had her fingerprints on it.  She obviously did it herself.  But that’s only half the truth.  Someone made her.  SomeTHING made her.  Even if it was a conscious choice, she committed suicide because she couldn’t deal with running anymore.

Oh God…she…she’s really gone.  I can’t help her anymore.  I failed.

What kind of miserable fuck-up am I?  All I fucking wanted was to help people.  Give them advice that might help them survive.  Prepare them.  And then, when I finally get the chance to see how well my advice pays off, how does it work out?  Not at fucking all.  The one person I had a chance to actually help, and now she’s dead.  It’s my fault.  She died because of me.  Not even because of the Slender Man.  She was fucking fine until she mentioned Marble Hornets to me.  She was safe.  And I came in, infected her, watched her slowly become a remnant of the girl she was before, and watched helplessly as she died.

I may have loved her, and she thought she loved me back but she didn’t really.  She’s dead and I’m here and I don’t know what to do because I failed her and I failed myself and I failed all of you.  I’m a failure.  A worthless idiot.  A really bad joke.

Why won’t he just fucking stop?  Why doesn’t he just fucking kill me?  He could do it if he wanted to.  Why doesn’t he just fucking do it already?

Perhaps it is punishment of some sort.  Yeah, maybe it’s punishment.  He’s pissed at me and, consequently, he doles out punishments for my transgressions.  He means me no actual harm.

What the hell did I just say?  Of course he fucking means me harm.  The proxies.  The labyrinth.  Everything with Girl.  He’s trying to fucking hurt me in every way possible.

On the other hand, has he ever attempted to kill me?

Why would that even matter?  He’ll try eventually.  He fucking killed Girl.  Why wouldn’t he do the same to me?  If he seriously doesn’t mean me harm, why has he put me through hell without even allowing me the release of death?

But perhaps all those proxies are right.  Perhaps he is God.  God is vengeful, yes.  And yet, God is loving.  He forced the Israelites to wander in the desert for forty long years, yes, but only so that they would be prepared to enter the Promised Land.  It is, to use a term, “tough love.”

…okay, wait, what?  Tough love?  Seriously?  That is the furthest thing from tough love.  He’s evil.

But who came to that conclusion?  We did.  It is human nature to be terrified of something different.  Why did whites enslave blacks?  Why did the Nazis massacre Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals, among others?  Because they were different.  We fear what is different.  It is our human nature.  Perhaps, we just need to…embrace it.  After all, in some ways—a lot of ways—it is a beautiful creature.

…did I seriously just compare the Slender Man to the Holocaust?  And a “beautiful creature?”  What the fuck is wrong with me.  He kills people.  He killed Girl.  Remember that, Jekyll.

Or maybe he just kills us because we attack him.  He retaliates in fear.  In self-defense.

…What the hell am I fucking saying?

Girl’s dead.  She’s gone.  She’s fucking gone forever now.  She died, I’m going to die, you’re all going to fucking die and there’s not a single fucking thing I can do for you.  I started a blog hoping I could save some lives.  How many lives have I saved?  None.  The one time it was necessary, the one time I had the chance to make a difference, the person I was trying to protect went crazy and died less than two weeks after first seeing him.

M’s still alive.  I’m convinced by this point that he’s never going to die.  Go look to him for advice again.  Maybe he’ll actually fucking post something helpful.  Because I sure as hell won’t anymore.  I’m done here.  I’m gone.  I’m no use to anyone.  You want to convince me to continue.  Go ahead and fucking try.  It won’t work.  Because I had one fucking thing.  I had hope.  I was convinced that I could help people.  I was convinced I could do something.  Now, that hope has been taken away.  Crushed on the ground, raped to death with tentacles, and burnt to a crisp with pyrokinesis. 

I used to have hope, yeah.  But now I have nothing.  Fucking nothing.

Goodbye.  Good luck. 

Good riddance.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Untitled 7


Well, I have news that’s probably good, and news that’s probably bad.

First, let’s get the probably good news out of the way.  Boyfriend isn’t about to kill me.  He’s not happy, but he gets now that this is something that kind of goes beyond what he thought it did and that it wasn’t because there was something going on between us.  He still blames me, of course (and that makes two of us), but he’s sort of just giving me “I’m pissed at you” looks and mourning the fact that she’s gone.  Also, he’s pretty sure it’s over between them, but that’s a secondary concern by this point.  He’s not really a shallow guy, so I’m not gonna make it seem like that’s what he cares most about.  It’s a pity, too.  I didn’t deserve to accidentally win her over from him.  But we’ve come to an understanding, and though he probably hates me, he also knows that I was genuinely trying to help her with something.  At least I don’t have to worry about inadvertently wearing his arms as a necktie anymore.

And now the probably bad news.

I went home for the weekend.  It was late at night, and I headed downstairs to grab a midnight snack from the fridge.  I tend to do that when I’m home…sneak downstairs to where there’s food and/or milk before eating.  Anyway, I’m walking around in the kitchen, and I open the fridge door.  Quietly, of course, as everyone else is sleeping.  And then I hear a voice from the living room.


I uttered a hurried curse, the glass of milk I had poured slipping from my grip.  Taking care not to shed a single tear, I quickly grabbed a cloth to mop up the spilled liquid. Well, it was more that I just tossed the towel over where I had spilled it, because Girl walked out of the living room at that moment,.  I was sort of in my skivvies, so I had to quickly duck into the living room to grab a blanket off the couch to wrap myself in.

As soon as I was more decently clothed and had finished cleaning up the floor, I sat down in the living room with her and flicked a lamp on.  She was sitting on the couch, wringing her hands, dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans.  The hood was pulled up, even though we were inside, like she felt safer within the confines of the cowl.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed at her.  Incidentally, this conversation is, as always, paraphrased.  Also, we were talking quietly the entire time.  Everyone else in the house was asleep, and I didn’t want anyone coming across me in my underwear (and a blanket) sitting with a mentally unstable girl.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I just had to come see you.  I didn’t know where else to go.”  She had really, really, really dark circles under her eyes.  She obviously hadn’t been sleeping well.  Obviously hadn’t been eating well, either.  She was extremely gaunt.  She seriously looked like she had gone anorexic, though probably not due to image problems.

“How did you—”  The question was supposed to end with “find me,” but it was a stupid question.  Phonebook, of course.  I decided to ask a different one.  “Why didn’t you call me or text me or something to let me know you were coming?”

Again, stupid question that I forgot I knew the answer to.  “I…I left my phone behind,” she told me.  “I couldn’t.  But I thought you’d maybe be home this weekend.”  Well, I was.  God, she looked terrible.  She kept shivering, like she couldn’t get warm (for the record, my mom keeps the house at about 78 degrees Fahrenheit, so she shouldn’t have been cold).  She kept looking around nervously, as if she expected fucking everything to come to life and kill her.  And her face…it was…it was insane how much it had changed in just this short time.  It was like the “after” portion of those “before and after” things you see for drugs.  She kept rubbing the back of her left hand.  She’d never had any sort of tic like that before.

“So why are you here?” I asked her.

“I…I need you.  I can’t take it, [Jekyll].  I just need someone to talk to.  The silence is just deafening.  He’s never around.  I can feel him, but I can never see him.  He’s always just hiding somewhere.  I’m so alone.  It’s the silence that’s killing me.”  She looked up, and it was…it was actually painful to look at her face.  There was just nothing there.  She looked empty.  A shell of our former self.  And she made eye contact…it…it was…there was nothing in them.  No hope.  No life.  Just fear and a weary acknowledgement that she had to keep fighting.  Not even determination, just…just an acknowledgement that she wasn’t supposed to give up.  It looked, however, like even that acknowledgement would soon fade, and she would simply resign herself to her terrible fate.  “I just needed someone to talk to to keep me sane, just a little bit longer.”  Again, a resignation to her tone.

“You need to come back,” I told her.  “You can’t handle this on your own.”

She kept rubbing the back of her hand.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I…I can’t do that.  It’s not safe for me.  He’s after you, Jekyll, but he’s also after me.  If I can draw him away from you…well, you’ll be safe.”

Her hand slipped for a second, and I saw a flash of red.  I reached over to her and grabbed her left hand.  She had cut an operator symbol into it.  A motherfucking operator symbol.  Into the back of her hand.

I think I let out a few choice curses.  I didn’t wake anyone up, so I managed to keep them to a whisper.  But just barely.  “What the fuck are you thinking?” I asked her.  “You know that it’s risky to use that symbol!”  Look at me.  She’s fucking cutting things into her hand, and I’m worried about what it was she’s cut in.  What’s that say about me as a person, huh?

She pulled back in shock and slapped me.  We both just started at each other in surprise for a few seconds.  “I….” she started.  “I just…I thought…I was….”  I watched as she grasped for the words, but they had left her.  It was as if she knew she had taken a razor herself and, for some reason or another, carved the mark onto her own hand—and yet somehow, had no recollection of when or why.  She simply could not find the words to explain.

“I have to go,” she whispered, close to tears.  “I’m sorry, [Jekyll], I…I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.  Don’t go looking for me.  In fact, just forget about me.  You’ll be safer that way.”  She stood up, and made her way to the door.  On the back of the hoodie, she had made another operator symbol out of red electrical tape.  So, yeah, that’d be Omega’s influence, I guess.  Thanks for that.

So she turned to me and gave me a hug—or rather, attempted to give me a hug.  She was so week that she just sort of…put her arms around me and grabbed onto the blanket to keep them from slipping off.  But she tried to give me a hug, and then she leaned forward and put her lips against my cheek, in what was clearly the closest thing to a kiss she could muster.

And then she slipped out the door and left, driving with her headlights off until she reached the road.

She’s gone.  I…I couldn’t help her.

Oh God what now fuck what now?

Friday, April 8, 2011

Untitled 6


I…I don’t even know what to say.  I don’t know how to respond to this.

Girl’s gone.  She’s…she’s gone.  She just fucking up and left.  Sent me off to get food and then just fucking took off.  Her note.  She left a note.  God, let me get it.  Just let me get it and type it up for you.


I’m sorry.  I can’t stay around here anymore.  I’m not strong like you.  I wish I could stay around and help you, but as it is, I’m just a burden.  I can’t keep imposing on you.  So this is goodbye.  I’m becoming a runner.  I feel trapped staying in one place, but maybe, if I’m on the move, he won’t be able to catch me.  I mean, it’s worked for M, right?  I know how much your eyes light up when you talk about him.  I found that memorial for him you set up.  It’s nice.  It’s great that he’s alive and everything, but part of me almost thinks that it’s too bad that he is, after all that eulogy and everything.  Personally, I think you do his job better than he does.  But I guess I’m just biased.

Well…I guess this is later, gator.  I’m sorry, [Jekyll].  I wish I was strong enough to say goodbye.


…I don’t know what to fucking do now.  She…I spent so much trying to help her.  And what did I do?  Nothing.  She fucking bolted.  Now she’s on her own, where she’ll be vulnerable.

Okay, so maybe she can survive as a runner.  But let’s be honest with ourselves, shall we?  In her current state, so psychologically broken, how long do you suppose she will last?  Her likelihood of surviving is rapidly dwindling.  She lacks both the sanity and stability to do anything fucking sensible.  She’s running because she’s panicking, not because she’s got a plan.  How do I even fucking react to this?

Now what?  Where do I even fucking go from here?

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Her Boyfriend’s Back and I’m gonna be in trouble….


Well.  Fuck.

Boyfriend decided that he’d confront me directly.  And “confront” didn’t mean, as I was expecting, that he’d block my path and bitch me out about staying away from his girl.  I expected a warning.  He let his fists speak for him.

Now, Boyfriend isn’t exactly a powerhouse.  He’s no football player or wrestler.  In fact, I don’t think he’s in any athletic program.  But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know how to throw a punch.  I’ve got a pretty impressive black eye.  I’d show it to you all, but that’d sort of defeat the purpose of anonymity.  Just run “black eye” through a Google image search.  It’s not quite as bad as most of those results, but you can pretend that I look exactly like that if you want to.

So after a few seconds of me what-the-fucking at him, he let me up.  I was on the ground at this point, naturally.  No, I’m not ashamed to admit this.  I know that I’m not the most muscular guy on campus, and I don’t think that the internet will look down on me for losing a fight.

“You stay the hell away from her,” he told me.  I responded with something along the lines of “What the fuck, man?  There’s nothing between us!”  Of course, then I needed to explain what was going on.  Thank God it was already getting dark out and no one was around to draw a crowd.

“Look,” I told him, “you’re going to have to trust me on this.  There’s something that’s going on with her, and she’s coming to me for help because I’m the only one who can help her.”

“I know, you jackass.  I know what you did to her.  I’ve read your fucking blog,” he said.

Okay, so he didn’t say that, but how ironic would that be?  No, what he really said was something like “She can come to me for anything.”  I tried explaining that, no, this is something that she doesn’t want you involved with.  She can’t even tell you because she loves you so much that she wants to keep him safe from this.

I’m such a great guy, aren’t I?  I didn’t even tell him that I was legitimately crushing on her, or that it was more that she needed me than she wanted him to be safe.

I’m watch her sleep.  Right as I type this up.  Not even kidding.  Sure, it’s for her sake, and she specifically asked me to.  She refuses to be alone even for a second now.  Hell, the only reason I got beat up in the first place was that I managed to convince her that I needed to get us food, and she was too scared to go out.  But still…I feel creepy watching her.  Like I’m walked in on her changing and decided to keep looking instead of turning away as soon as possible.  It just feels dirty.

I wish I could say she looks like she’s at peace when she sleeps.  But she’s doesn’t.  She’s not.  She has to leave a light on the entire time.  It usually takes her hours to get to sleep.  When finally does manage to drift off, she tosses and turns.  Sometimes she whimpers or cries or her breath becomes quick and panicked.  When she doesn’t, she doesn’t look calm.  She just looks dead.  And she always, always wakes up screaming.

This is stupid.  We have to be alone for this, or else it just looks weird.  We have to sleep in the lounges because we both have roommates and they wouldn’t exactly take to well to having us both around all the time.  We shouldn’t be alone.  We should be in groups.  What if the Slender Man shows up while the other one is sleeping?

She doesn’t go to classes anymore, either.  I’m still trying.  I’m so sleep deprived, but I guess the black eye hides that a bit now, huh?  But when I go to classes, she just sits outside the classroom the entire time.  Until she sees or hears me, she just stares off into space, an empty look in her eyes.  I can tell that she’s losing time.  She doesn’t have anyone to keep her awake, so her mind just sleeps, even if her body doesn’t.  That’s maybe how it happens.  She just spaces out because she can’t face reality.

And when she is spacing out, she’s often sketching in that damn notebook.  No, I’m not uploading the pictures.  I rip them up before she can see them.  I’m not subjecting her to that.

The sad part is, I honestly don’t know which is worse: the times when she’s numb, dead, and empty, or the times when she’s paranoid, panicked, and slipping into insanity.  She’s rarely ever lucid before.  I’m just her anchor.  Her babysitter.  That one constant she refuses to let go of because I’m proof that she’s not crazy, that this thing does exist, that it’s possible to face this and be well adjusted.  I give her hope.

But she’s still not getting any better.

…she told me she loved me last night.  She was hyperventilating and I helped calm her down, and then she started crying, and she kept thanking me and sobbing and telling me that she loved me for all this.  And it broke my heart.  Because I know that she doesn’t really love me.  She only thinks she does, because I’m the only one who can help her.  I’m her knight in shining armor.  Me, of all people.  The guy who fucking cried when he thought M died.  The guy who’s an asshole in the hopes that people just stop fucking reading his blog and don’t get attached to him.  The guy who can’t even fucking trust himself anymore.  It truly is a shame how much faith she puts into me.  A pity that I can never live up to her expectations.  Truly, I am one of the least heroic or bold persons in our shared predicament.  She has yet to realize that.  Perhaps it is for the best that she idolizes me.  Perhaps I will be her beacon of hope yet.  Perhaps I can pull her back from insanity yet.

But unfortunately, it is probable that I cannot.

I’m sorry.  I must go now.  She is beginning to awaken.